Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War (6 page)

Jaina stopped just short of adding, “Like you have done.” It wasn’t fair. Go’el had hardly been idle. He had indeed been doing much for Azeroth, but still… It was petty of her, but she felt as if he had let her down. She folded her stained cloak about her frame in what she realized was a defensive gesture. Sighing, she deliberately loosened her tight shoulders. Go’el sat quietly beside her on the boulder.

“You must do what you think is best, Jaina,” he said. A slight wind stirred the braids in his beard. He looked off into the distance as he spoke. “I cannot tell you what that is or else I would be just like these others whom you find so frustrating.”

He was right. There had been a time when Jaina had easily discerned what the best thing to do was in a given situation. Even if it was bitterly hard to do it. Choosing not to stand with her own father as he fought the Horde had been such a defining moment for her. So had been walking away from Arthas when he instigated what became known later as the Culling of Stratholme. But now—

“It’s all so uncertain, Go’el. More than it ever has been, I think.”

He nodded. “It is indeed.”

She turned to look at him searchingly. He had changed, in more ways than one. Not just his clothing, or his name, or his demeanor, but—

“So,” she said, “the last time we met, it was to celebrate a happy occasion. How is life with Aggra treating you?”

His blue eyes warmed. “Well indeed,” he said. “She honors me by accepting me.”

“I think you honor her,” Jaina said. “Tell me about her. I didn’t really have much of a chance to talk to her.”

Go’el gave her a speculative glance, as though wondering why she wished to know, then shrugged slightly.

“She is of course a Mag’har, born and raised in Draenor. That is why her skin is brown; she and her people were never tainted by any sort of exposure to demon blood. Azeroth is new to her, but she loves it passionately. She is a shaman, like me, and devotes herself entirely to healing this world. And,” he added quietly, “healing me.”

“Did you… need healing?” Jaina asked.

“We all do, whether we see it or not,” Go’el replied. “We bear the wounds of simply living in this life even if we never have a physical scar. A mate who can see one for who one is, truly and completely—ah, that is a gift, Jaina Proudmoore. A gift that restores and renews one daily, and which must be tended carefully. It is a gift that has made me whole—made me understand my purpose and place in the world.”

Gently, he laid a large green hand on her shoulder. “I would wish such a gift and such insights for you, my dear friend. I would see you happy, your life complete, your purpose clear.”

“My life
is
complete. And I know my purpose.”

He smiled around his tusks. “As I said, only you know what is right for you. But I will say this with certainty: whatever journey you are on, whatever your path may lead to, I, at least, have found it to be sweeter by far with a life companion at my side.”

Jaina thought with a trace of uncharacteristic bitterness of Kael’thas Sunstrider and Arthas Menethil. Both had once been so bright and beautiful. Both had loved her. One she had respected and admired; the other she had loved deeply in return. Both had fallen to the call of dark powers and the weaker parts of their natures. She smiled without humor.

“I do not think I am very wise at choosing life companions,” she said. She forced down the frustration and unhappiness and uncertainty, and reached to place her small, pale hand on his. “I’m better when it comes to friends.”

They sat together for a long, long time.

I
t began to rain as Jaina paddled back to Theramore after her meeting with Thrall. Though it made her cold and uncomfortable for the moment, she welcomed the inconvenience, as few tended to venture out in such inclement weather. She tied up the little dinghy to the dock, slipping a little on the wet wood, and under cover of the steady downpour, made her way to the magically concealed secret entrance to the tower, unnoticed. Shortly she was in her cozy parlor. Shivering, Jaina lit the fire with a murmured incantation and a flick of a finger, dried her clothes the same way, and put away the cloak.

She brewed some tea and selected a few cookies, set them down on a small table, and settled in by the fire, thinking about what Thrall had said. He seemed so… content. Calm. But how could he be? In a very real sense, he had turned his back on his people and, in handing the reins to Garrosh, had practically guaranteed that war would become inevitable. If only Anduin were older, he would be a valuable ally. But youth was so fleeting; Jaina felt guilty for momentarily wishing Anduin would miss a single day of it.

And Thrall—Go’el (it would take her some time to get used to the new name)—was married now. What would this mean for the Horde? Might he want his son or daughter to rule after him? Would he take up the mantle of the Horde again if this Aggra gave him a child?

“Save any cookies for me, Lady?” The voice was female, youthful, a little squeaky.

Jaina smiled without turning around. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the distinctive humming sound of a teleportation spell. “Kinndy, you can always make your own.”

Her apprentice laughed cheerfully, hopping into a chair opposite Jaina beside the blazing fire and reaching for a cup of tea and one of the aforementioned cookies. “But mine are only
apprentice
cookies. Yours are
master
cookies. They’re ever so much better.”

“You’ll figure out chocolate bits any day now,” Jaina said, keeping her face deadpan. “Though your apple bars are coming along quite nicely.”

“I’m glad you think so,” said Kinndy Sparkshine. She was perky even for a gnome, with a shock of bright pink hair pulled back in pigtails that made her look much younger than her twenty-two years—just a teenager by her people’s reckoning of age. It would be easy to dismiss her as a chipper little thing with as much substance as the spun-candy confection her hair resembled, but those who looked into her wide blue eyes would see a sharp intelligence there that contradicted the innocent face. Jaina had taken her on as an apprentice several months ago. She hadn’t really had much of a choice.

Rhonin, who had led the Kirin Tor through the Nexus War and still guided them, had requested Jaina’s presence shortly after the Cataclysm had struck. He was more somber than she had ever seen him as he met her in the Purple Parlor, a special place accessible, as far as she knew, only by portal. After pouring them each a drink of sparkling Dalaran wine, he sat beside her and regarded her intently.

“Rhonin,” Jaina had asked quietly, not even taking a sip of the delicious beverage, “what is it? What has happened?”

“Well, let’s see,” he replied. “Deathwing is loose; Darkshore has fallen into the sea—”

“I mean with
you
.”

He smiled faintly at his own dark humor. “Nothing is wrong with me, Jaina. Merely—well, I have a concern that I’d like to share with you.”

She frowned, a small crease appearing between her brows, and put the glass down. “Me? Why me? I’m not one of the Council of Six. I’m not even a member of the Kirin Tor anymore.” Once, she had been, working closely with her master, Antonidas. But after the Third War, when the scattered members of the Kirin Tor had reformed, it hadn’t felt the same to her.

“And this is precisely why it’s you I must speak with,” he said. “Jaina, we’ve all endured so much. We’ve been so busy—well, fighting and planning and doing battle—that we’ve fallen behind on another, perhaps even more important, duty.”

Jaina gave him a bemused smile. “Defeating Malygos and recovering from a world shaken like a rat in a mastiff’s mouth seem pretty important to me.”

He nodded. “They are. But so is training the next generation.”

“What’s that got to do—oh.” She shook her golden head firmly. “Rhonin, I’d like to help, but I can’t come to Dalaran. I have my own challenges in Theramore, and even though Horde and Alliance have been equally harmed by the Cataclysm, we still have so much—”

He held up an interrupting hand. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “I’m not asking you to stay here in the Violet Citadel. There are enough of us here—but too few out there in the world.”

“Oh,” she said again. “You… want me to take an apprentice.”

“We do. If you’re amenable. There is one young woman in particular I’d like you to consider. She’s extremely promising, intelligent, and fiercely curious about the world outside her limited view of Ironforge and Dalaran. I think you’d be a very good match.”

And then Jaina understood. She reclined in the comfortable purple cushions and reached for the wine. She took a small sip and said, “And someone who’d do a fine job of reporting back to you too, I presume.”

“Come now, Lady Proudmoore. You can’t expect us to leave so powerful and influential a mage all alone out there in Theramore.”

“Honestly? I’m surprised you haven’t sent along an observer before,” she said.

He gave her a rueful look. “There’s so much in chaos now,” he said.
“It’s not that we don’t trust you. It’s that we simply need to… well…”

“I promise not to open any Dark Portals,” Jaina said, lifting her hand and mockingly swearing.

That made him laugh; then he sobered. Placing a hand on hers, he leaned in for a moment. “You do understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” Jaina said. And she did. Before, there had been no time for anything other than simple survival. Any mage, anywhere, who had not actively allied with Malygos had been a threat to him. Now, with the world splintered, old alliances were splintered as well. And Jaina was both a powerful mage and a respected diplomat.

Thoughts of Antonidas, who had—after much badgering on her part—taken her on as an apprentice what seemed like ages ago, filled her mind. He had been a wise and good man, with a strong sense of right and wrong and the willingness to die to protect others. He had inspired and shaped her. Suddenly, Jaina very much wanted to give back to the world what it had given her. She was quite aware that she was a mage of no small ability, and now that the subject had been broached, she thought it might be a good thing to teach someone what she knew. She did not have to rejoin the Kirin Tor to help others understand and work well with magic, as she had learned how to do. Life was unpredictable, these days more so than ever. Additionally, she found she missed Anduin’s occasional presence. Perhaps a young person would liven up the damp old place.

“You know,” she said, “I recall a certain headstrong young woman who pestered Antonidas to take her as an apprentice.”

“And as
I
recall, she turned out rather well. Some say she’s the finest mage in Azeroth.”

“Some say many things.”

“Please tell me you’ll teach her,” Rhonin said, dropping any hint of anything other than complete sincerity.

“I think it’s a fine idea,” she said firmly.

“You’ll like her,” Rhonin said. His expression grew impish. “She’ll challenge you.”

Kinndy had challenged Pained, too, Jaina remembered. She smothered a smile as she thought about Pained’s reaction to the gnome girl.
Pained was a night elf, a warrior who had stayed with Jaina ever since being assigned to the mage at the Battle of Mount Hyjal. She steadfastly served as Jaina’s bodyguard, whether or not the lady actually needed her, unless Jaina sent her off on a more covert mission. Jaina often told Pained that she was free to return to her people at any point. Pained usually shrugged and said, “Lady Tyrande never officially relieved me of my duty,” and would not reply further. Jaina didn’t quite understand the night elf’s stubbornness and inexplicable, devotion but she was grateful for it.

At one point, Kinndy had been studying while Jaina methodically went through her cabinet of reagents, writing up new labels for those that were almost illegible and putting aside items that had lost their potency for proper disposal. Chairs in Theramore were designed for humans, and Kinndy’s feet didn’t reach the floor. She had been swinging them absently, sipping tea as she perused a tome nearly as large as she was. Pained had been busying herself, cleaning her sword. Out of the corner of her eye, Jaina had noticed the elf glancing at Kinndy now and then, looking more annoyed each time.

Finally Pained burst out. “Kinndy? Do you
enjoy
being perky?”

Kinndy closed the book, marking her place with a small finger, and pondered the question. After a moment, she said, “People don’t take me seriously. This often denies me opportunities to be useful. I find it rather frustrating. So, no. I
don’t
enjoy being perky.”

Pained nodded. “Ah. That is all right, then,” she said, and returned to her work. Jaina had to excuse herself quickly in order to keep from laughing.

Unintentional perkiness aside, Kinndy had indeed challenged Jaina. The gnome had more energy than anyone Jaina had ever met. The questions were endless. At first they were amusing, then annoying, and then Jaina woke up one day and realized she was truly a mentor. A master with an apprentice who would grow up to do her proud. Rhonin hadn’t been exaggerating—he had probably given her the best the Kirin Tor had to offer.